


Who Needs a Heart Anyway?

by Idkitiswhatitis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Major Character Injury, Reunited in heaven, Sad Ending, Samulet, They all die, previous major character death, sad but not too sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idkitiswhatitis/pseuds/Idkitiswhatitis
Summary: Years after Sam dies, Dean's heart is giving out. He doesn't particularly care.Not a happy story, but not as angsty as it could be :)





	Who Needs a Heart Anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of angst. Make sure to view tags.
> 
> Can be read with or without Wincest goggles. No actual relationship mentioned.
> 
> My second fic and unbeta'd.

"Yeah, well, uh, ya see, it happened, what, ten years ago? Fifteen? After the first two you just stop countin' so I ain't sure, but, I knew, soon as it happened, he wasn't comin' back this time." The old man rubs a tired hand over his face. His voice breaks and slurs, "Yeah, I tried to save him. Like every other time, but, Sam was gone."

The young nurse adjusts the sheet over the man recuperating from his second heart attack in as many years. His skin, sallow and clammy, tells a tale of a sad life with too many burgers and too few homecooked meals. She really wants to finish taking his vitals and skedaddle. She has more patients to see.

"Yeah, I'd thought I could save 'im," the man drones on. "I tried everything, but, wasn't enough, you know? Then, for some reason, people kept needin' me after, so I couldn't follow him. Even now, my heart wants to give out, but the damn doctors keep bringin' me back!"

He flails one arm about. The other, stuck with his dripline, is tucked safely under the sheet. The morphine from his triple bypass still in his system. The nurse takes his hand and squeezes.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm sure it's not so bad. You'll feel better when the pain goes down." 

"Pain, my ass! It never goes away. You push it aside until you've got other stuff in the way." Dean shoves her hand away. "Then, you're dying and the mountain obscuring your view sinks and you're left with all the shit you were trying to avoid to begin with. But, no, sweetheart, the pain doesn't 'go down'". 

"I bet you're a blast when you're drinking." The nurse tries to lighten his mood. The woman in the room next door needs her catheter adjusted. Another three patients need meds and vitals. She doesn't have time to console an old man.

"Yeah, tell that to my liver. It's next to go." He leans his head back with a sigh and closes his eyes. "Not sure how it's functioning at all," he whispers with a half-smile. 

The nurse snorts in response for his benefit. A moment passes and he's finally quiet.

"Ok, I'm gonna go to the next room. Here's the button if you need anything." She points at the button for him to press on the remote attached to his bed. He grunts in affirmation and falls asleep.

**

"Hey, Dean! How are you?" Jack sits across from Dean and smiles toothily up at him. He has a bouquet of flowers in hand and clutches uncomfortably at them. He still has an air of innocence about him. Dean's face lifts a smidge.

"Yeah, yeah. Good as can be expected for someone who's just had their chest cut open and heart messed around with." Dean frowns down at his chest and pokes. He winces slightly at the touch, but come on, he's higher than RDJ in the 90s. It doesn't hurt much, right now.

"Good," Jack replies awkwardly. His hands crinkle the paper in hand. He remembers the flowers and shoves them at Dean stiffly. "Here."

"Uh, thanks," Dean replies. He raises his good arm to take them from Jack. The kid smiles, looking the same as the day he was born. He lays them across his lap. 

"So, Garth asked how you're doing."

"Did he?"

"Yes. He's been helping out since…" Jack gestures at Dean's chest. "He took over the phone lines and email."

"Well, good. Sorry to leave everyone hangin'. Didn't mean to."

"Dean, nobody is blaming you. I only meant we have things covered until you're, you know, recovered." 

Dean laughs, "Thanks." He reaches over for his cup of melted ice chips. He talks a long drink.

"Dude, if you could sneak me in a bottle of Jack, I'd give you the damn Impala."

Jack frowns. "You still have the Impala? I haven't seen you drive it in years." He cocks his head to the side and considers Dean. "I haven't seen it since Sam—"

"Yeah, I know. It was a joke." He leans into the stiff mattress. His eyes close at the sad thoughts. "You know, you really may as well have her. Damned if I'll let her turn to rust. I ain't gonna drive her, though."

"Why? It's just a car."

Years ago, Dean would have bitten his head off. Called him every cuss word under the sun. Time, though, has a tempering effect. Experience, too, has taught him to be his own moral compass, instead of relying on Sam to do it for him.

Dean puffs out a breath. "Yeah, I know, Jack."

Jack leaves soon after. Dean had told him where to find Baby's keys. He knows they'll still be there when he finally goes home.

**

His return is greeted by silence. He stiffly moves into his living room to lower himself into his favorite chair. He quickly passes out from exhaustion and stays there the rest of the day.

** 

Weeks pass and he's the same as he was before the operation. When his blood thinners run out, he doesn't bother to refill them. He continues his routine of bacon and burgers, heart health be damned. 

He hadn't had beer frequently in years. Jack is still his best friend. 

The phone labeled FBI rings. He answers it, lies through his teeth, and returns to his bottle.

**

A few more days pass. Jesse, an old hunting "pal", calls for help.

"Dean, I've got a weird one," Jesse's calm voice rings through the line.

"Aren't they all? Kinda the point. What is it?" Dean's voice is a little breathy, his heart making uncomfortable pitter-patters in his chest. He pretends like his heart giving out doesn't concern him.

"Well, I've got six drownings in Mexico. All in a cave. Fingernails, teeth, and eyes missing."

"Yuck," Dean replies monotonously.

"Pretty much. No sign of a struggle. Bodies show up mutilated a few days later. Coroner report lists death as drowning."

"Doesn't sound like a siren or sprites... I dunno man. Gonna have to research a bit."

"Cool. Thanks. Let me know what you get."

"Yep."

Dean hangs up, takes a long swig of Jack, and starts flipping through numerous tomes on his desk. 

 

"Hey," Dean calls Jesse hours later. 

"Find it?" Jesse asks.

"Maybe. Ahuizotl, an old Aztec creature. Lures people to the water then grabs them with its tail. Which, get this, has a hand attached. They look like black dogs. Not much in the lore. Extremely localized to specific regions in Mexico."

"Never heard of it. How do I kill it?"

"No idea." Dean pauses to rub his hand over his tired eyes. "Locals believed getting ganked by this thing led to paradise or somethin'. I dunno. Try to take it's head off and go from there."

"Not all that helpful, but it's a starting place. Thanks, Dean," Jesse replies before hanging up. Dean sets his phone down. He refills his tumbler, rubbing his chest. 

"All in a day's work," Dean says to the air.

**

One quiet day, Dean sets his three-finger-full tumbler carelessly down on the dresser in his room. Whiskey pours down the wood and spills into the top drawer. 

"Crap," he mutters. He rights the glass and grabs a dirty pair of socks to sop up the liquid. The quick movement makes his head swim. He steadies himself with a curse. A few calming breaths later, and Dean can see straight again. 

He opens the drawer with an angry grunt. His top layer of underwear sustained minimal damage. The bottom of the drawer, though, retained the bulk of the moisture. 

He pulls everything out, mopping up as he goes. Once clear, Dean sighs and lifts out the false bottom. Whiskey droplets patter onto his bare feet. He grunts in frustration but continues his task. A slender box is tucked under the wood slat. Dean wipes it off and feels a pang in his chest.

He carefully removes the box and sets it on the bed. He lowers himself down slowly, eyes remaining on the wood. With a shake of his head, he opens it. 

He is greeted, immediately, by a picture of Sam. He is young in this picture, early twenties. He had already lost Jess, but John was still alive. His head is thrown back, caught midlaugh. Even then, his eyes remain on Dean, almost as if he's seeking approval. In this picture, Dean is laughing, too, but he's looking away. He doesn't know Sam is looking at him.

He puts the picture down and scrubs his eyes a moment. His chest hurts again. He shivers.

He inspects the box for damage. Seeing none, he rifles a moment through the contents. He finds more pictures of his baby brother. Happy, sad, serious. Alive. 

He pushes the pictures to one side but the pictures catch on something in the corner. He flips the pictures up to reveal his amulet. He rubs his fingers over the cold metal for a moment. The leather cord holding the amulet long since worn away. 

"Damn it, Sammy. I wasn't meant to be here without you." 

The amulet does not reply. None of the pictures flutter in a mysterious breeze. He doesn't feel cold. The lights don't flicker. 

Dean knows nothing is going to happen. If Sam was going to be a ghost, he would have shown up by now. As it is, he is alone, and will be until his heart gives out.

He traces his fingers over the picture of Sam laughing once more. He pulls the picture out, slides it into his back pocket, and hides away the memory box. 

**

His doorbell rings the next morning, or, rather, his definition of morning. His hungover body slumped in his chair fumbles to standing. He sways a bit, belches, scratches his gut, and jumps when the doorbell rings again. 

He opens the door, squinting the whole while and cursing sunlight.

"What?" he barks at the young man in front of him.

"Dean Winchester?" The man turns his head sideways and considers Dean with a confused look on his face.

"Yeah? Hurry up with the cookies if you're sellin'. Otherwise, get outta here." He starts to shut the door but the man's reflexes are much faster. He pushes the door open, knocking Dean back in the process. Dean stumbles and falls back on the ground.

"Pathetic," he mutters.

Dean halfheartedly scrambles for a weapon, but he hasn't seen active combat in years. His poor health and current incapability hinder his search. 

The young man reaches behind him and pulls out a handgun. 

"Took long enough, but I finally found you. You killed my mom. Now, I'm going to kill you."

At one point in his life, when Dean was sharp, before his movements slowed, before Sam, before his heart started to give out, he could have taken this kid. Easy. A quick roll and Dean would be in position to kick his legs out and take the weapon. That was before. Now, Dean stares down the barrel pointed at his brow and closes his eyes.

He hears a bang. Then nothing.

**

"Dean?" A voice calls out to him. "Dean?"

"Sam?" Dean answers, confused. The world is still black and dark. 

"Hey, yeah, Dean, it's me. Sit up, you're okay," Sam's voice answers, soft. 

Dean feels himself being pulled into sitting. Gentle hands stroke across his hairline. His eyes flutter open at the touch, a touch he hasn't known in fifteen years. 

"Sammy," Dean breathes. His brother hasn't aged in their time apart. The crow's feet around his eyes are no deeper. The furrow at his brow remains the same. His fingers unwittingly trace the lines. Sam smiles at the touch. Tears leak down his face. Dean pulls Sam's face down to rest their foreheads together. "Missed you."

"You too, Dean." Sam wraps his arms around him, still clad in flannel, and hugs him tightly. For the first time in a long time, Dean's chest doesn't ache.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot longer and a lot sadder in my head but it hurt too much to write so...here's a condensed version. Might be worth a revisit in the future.
> 
> The "young man" is supposed to be Jacob, the son of Amy Pond from 7.03. I wondered what happened to him, and included him for giggles.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
